Limbo
by Crimson Taklian
Summary: Limbo is the abode of souls who are locked from both Heaven's gates and Hell's walls. They wander without purpose, searching for eternal rest, at the command of the corrupted Goddess.
1. Default Chapter

_Introduction_

_Ballad of the Skylark, Verse One_

_Upon the ground of the broken land  
__Once ablaze within the sky  
__Two armies fight against themselves  
__For reasons that are unknown  
__On one side are the black clad knights  
__Fighting for the Goddess  
__On the other is the soldiers grabbed in white  
__Heretics and heroes to the common person  
__Swords have clashed,  
__Blood was spilt,  
__Yet still the war spiraled on and on  
__No end in sight, neither far nor near  
__The innocents were numbered none  
__Casualties visible left and right  
__Above them all, their Goddess laughed  
__Controlled by her Puppet child,  
__Spun by strands of hate and envy  
__Their cruel amusement stretched four thousand years  
__Until every citizen was dead  
__Yet no, they did not stop their playing there  
__They brought back those with a hint of sin  
__And left their souls in limbo  
__Wives who simply lied sob to hold their families  
__Husbands who fought for safety wander in horror  
__Children, innocent child, exist without a future  
__Alas, our Holy Mother has turned devil  
__Controlled by her masterpiece creation  
__We all must wait until she returns to norm  
__Or will we wait for all eternity?_

The purple-black veil of night stretched in the heavenly sky, the moon blood red as it looked down upon the crimson fields like an eye. The field, with grass covered in a sheet of blood so thick one could no longer feel the softness of the ground, was home to the perpetual battle the little girl had spent centuries watching. The girl, with her hands clasped over a small black book, was seated atop a hill; her knees pulled up to her chest with her head resting on the kneecaps. Her eyes, purple of such intensity that they could have easily been called black, watched emotionlessly as the ghost soldiers gathered in the empty field below.

She could barely have been older then ten years with a round face surrounded by blonde ringlets that were such a pale yellow that they may have been platinum or white even. She wore a simple farm girl's dress of a white blouse and black skirt. Her features were so colorless, the pigmentation gone from her skin completely and her body lacking fat or mussel. Resting in her hands was a small, black book filled with arcane scripture. It was, in truth, a dark magic tome. Her bare feet were coated in blood from the once emerald grass, as were her bland clothing so that her shirt was almost black from bloodstains. Her dark eyes closed and she gave an empty laugh like rattling bones.

"Centuries have passed and yet the armies still do battle," she said to the moon, neck bent backwards and a malicious smile stretching her once innocent face, "Don't they realize who the victor will be? The goddess's army will turn out as the winner, as they always have done." Her voice was a monotone, devoid of all life, emotion and vibrancy. Her voice was one that should never have belonged to a child.

She watched as one of the commanders, dressed in white armor, yelled out demands to his soldiers and they fought their battle, clear expressions of hope on their faces, which were as pale and eeriely thin as her own. The opposite force was lead by a woman with unwashed raven hair; clad in black armor that covered her torso and her legs hidden by a skirt of similar color with a long slit up the right side, revealing ivory skin. Her soldier's half-heartily battled with looks of boredom on their faces.

The little girl laughed again, putting her head back on her knees. "They want to break their curse so badly," she whispered, still no emotion entering her voice, "That they have lost their strive for battle. The white knights still cling to the dream of hope, like a drowning man to the branch that is about to snap. I pity their souls." She stood at last, clutching her tome to her chest. She was not very tall or impressive as she watched the battle take place below. It was true; the black-armored soldiers were winning by a considerable amount. The white soldiers were all terrified, their battle skills dropping horribly and the commander was clutching his sword in a white-knuckled death grip as he bravely fought back the assault of the black soldier's cavalry.

"Bravo, Captain Lock," she said, her clapping mocking their valiant efforts, "You can die with honor . . . again and again. Though how much honor can you get by being a traitor to your creator?" She tossed back her head and laughed a bitter and mirthless laugh.

"I amuse myself, I admit it," she whispered in a deadly quiet voice, "Though true amusement left me but a thousand years ago, when the blackness of death engulfed my soul." She turned on her heel and marched down the hill, not bothering to watch the final moments of the battle. She knew how it ended.

Lock would go up to the raven-haired commander of the black knights, who would give a banshee-like battle cry and swing her own sword, which was three times smaller than his massive broadsword. He would laugh and thrust the sword into her leg, crippling her. As she screamed in pain, she would draw a dagger from her sleeve and throw it. The dagger would become embedded into Lock's forehead, and he would die in that moment. The other white knights, seeing their fallen commander, would go to murder the woman and succeed, though their lives would be lost by the near rabid remains of the black knights. The knights would not know what to do, so they would take their own lives.

The girl had made it to the bottom of the hill when she heard the raven- haired woman scream in pain and terror. She gave a bitter chuckle and looked up at the sky and the blood red moon. "Good-bye, Captains Lock and Miranda. I suppose your battle will again take place same time, same place after the moon rises again."

She walked along the field, which was as red as the blood that soaked human flesh. Numerous other battles had been fought atop these lands, and each one ended in a slaughter. The black clad Holy Knights of the Goddess always won. She amused herself for a moment, thinking of a tale her mother had told her eons ago (true, it had only been two thousand years, but it felt much longer). The tale was that good always triumphed over those of wicked heart and soul: the white knights would defeat the black knights and the lands would return to the peace they once had. If this philosophy was true, why had these lands become limbo?

Limbo. According to the mythology she had heard before her demise, limbo was the place between heaven and hell where lost souls were doomed to live eternity less they finally found their place. This description fit her land perfectly. Soldiers, nobles, innocent children . . . All wandered the land without purpose, without meaning, without peace. There were some like Lock, Miranda and their soldiers who were forced to perpetually relive their moment of death and there were others, like herself, who simply wandered the blood-drenched lands. Those souls were the lost ones. Then, the final class of the limbo's citizenship was the Statues.

Their moment of death was frozen forever. They simply stood in place, though they felt everything around them. They could see all, hear all, feel all, but they could not move. They would have been greatly pitied, had their fates been the best of all. Which would any chose? To wander the lands without meaning, to continually see death and carnage, or to remain still as living, breathing stone? A tough question with bitter answers, she thought for a moment then let the topic slide from her mind.

The girl's thin lips parted, revealing white, even teeth and her shoulders shook with horrible, silent laughter. She could no longer tell what emotions were, but there was an ache in her heart that any other would call sadness. She would have cried, had she still possessed the ability to express emotions. It had been death that had created this shell of a child. Eternal hell had taken something that was once pure and innocent, such as a child should be, and twisted that innocence into the flesh puppet that was she.

She didn't even seem to have a name any longer. The name of the girl she had once been was embedded deep in her consciousness, and it was rare that she could summon it up. Now was such a time, when she recalled those simple syllables that had been her identity. The girl looked up at the sky and said softly and dangerously, "Lady Goddess, you ruined us all. I sought peace in death, but you knew my plan didn't you?" Her shoulders shook again in her mocking laughter, "You knew that I would do that and you stopped my gentle journey, so I would have to suffer like the rest of your little pawns."

Her hands were clenched into fists with the nails dug so deep into the skin that vermilion blood dripped down the palms, adding the only bit of color to her lifeless body. Her tome had fallen to the ground and spilled open, revealing the ancient language of the Druids and Shamans. "I . . . I just wanted peace. I wanted away from everything. You took away my death; you took away the death of a child. That . . . is worse than giving the child death. I wanted to sleep . . . I didn't want to live. That was what the dagger meant!" She took a deep shaking breath before speaking again, her voice still devoid of emotion and life but hardly above a venomous whisper.

"I so wanted to escape the hell you gave our world, your world," she breathed, "I wanted to see my mother again. Now, you've made me a shell where I can no longer feel any love towards my . . . my mother." Her voice cracked and she collapsed to the ground, the blood staining her hands and blouse. Her body shook with silent sobs, her tight throat constricting her breaths, which were jagged. It was rare that she had this much emotion in her, she liked to think of herself as empty.

"I can't see your face anymore mother," breathed the girl, staring across the ruby fields with her head resting on the ground. The blood stained the side of her face and had turned her hair crimson. "I don't know your voice any longer; I can't see your smile, feel your warmth. . . You escaped the goddess's punishment. You got to go to heaven; you got to go to peace with father. But your baby girl was left alone, and she so wanted to join her parent's embrace again that she killed herself. Now, she repeats her tale to empty ears, because all she can feel is an empty void where her heart once was." The girl touched her chest, where one's heart is and closed her eyes.

"I bare your name, mother, I was named Karen after you, but you are an angel, and I am a ghost. We can be no different." She closed her eyes.

"Mother . . . "

* * *

The sickle moon hung over Castle Pherae's grounds like an omen, the slimmest bit of moonlight pouring onto the rich castle garden. The flower gardens were the pride and joy of the Lady Eleanora, second only to her treasured son. Tonight was a humid night in summer, the flower-beds a riot of color and the heavy scents of the jasmine, honeysuckle and lilies clung to the air. Yet most of all, the garden was deserted for such a late hour, it was peacefully quiet and a meditative place of solitude. 

A man of about eighteen walked along the small stone pathway that cut through the emerald grass and multi-colored flowers, his sapphire eyes scanning the dozens flowers and plants. He was small built but muscular, his hair a violent shade of crimson and untidy, as though he had run his fingers so many times that it would no longer lay flat. He had a traveler's look to him, judging from his tan skin, though his clothing was that of a wealthy man. This was the Marquees-to-be of Pherae, Eliwood. In three days time – his nineteenth birthday – he'd become the successor to his father's throne.

The Knight Lord heaved a heavy sigh as he stared around his mother's precious garden. A thin smile stretched his face and he laughed lightly, remembering how Lady Eleanora had scolded him as a child for accidentally crushing some of the tulips and banned Hector from ever entering it. The memories didn't last long, though, and Eliwood's thoughts quickly turned to ones of his upcoming birthday.

He could not express in words his feelings towards his birthday, for it would mean a good few months of taking orders from the snippy and gossipy advisors of his father's court. Everyone in Castle Pherae seemed intent on telling him the same thing over and over again; that he needed a bride. His mother was one of the top supporters of this belief, much to his distaste. His face went crimson at the most recent discussion that had occurred between the twosome.

"_I hear Marquees Tania's daughter is stunning. She's a Valkyrie, you know, a powerful one to, from what I've heard." _

"Mother . . ."

"What's wrong? I thought you'd be happier. You're nineteenth birthday is in three days. I thought men loved attention and people catering to their every whim."

"Whoever told you that was only referring to the minority."

"You sound just like your father! We were wed about your age, did you know? I still remember . . . He brought me out to the gardens, blindfolded, and told me that he knew I loved flowers. Then he showed me everything. He had them all planted, just for me, and he told me that he couldn't have found a flower beautiful enough to match mine, so he got all the different kinds he could find."

"I remember, Mother."

"You fell in love with another woman, didn't you? On your travels?"

"What! No, not at all!"

"It's all over your face. Tell me, who is the lucky girl? It was the Princess of Caelin, wasn't it?"

"It's nobody! Certainly not Lady Lyndis!"

"Now I remember! It was that Dancer, Ninian wasn't it?"

The conversation had ended there with Eliwood leaving the room. He absently fingered the silver ring on his finger, looking at it without really seeing it. It was his only physical memento of the turquoise haired Dancer, her Thor's Ire ring. It was delicately cared, ruins inscribed on the insides, a large, circular diamond was embedded into the center with two smaller ones on either side.

He smiled sadly, slipping the ring off so he could inspect it more carefully. The ring's magic, coupled with the mystical powers of Ninian's dances, had saved his neck several times. He missed her greatly, but knew that she had done what she needed to do. The return of the Dragons had been stopped, though at the cost of the young couple's love. Sighing bitterly, he stared up at the crescent moon.

"You appear troubled," said a woman's soft, raspy voice from somewhere behind him.

He turned sharply, his eyes falling upon the form of an old, bent woman with iron gray hair bound beneath a black veil. She dressed as if she had just come from a funeral, her dress and shawl both of the same shade of ebony. "You startled me, ma'am," he said, bowing in respect slightly, "Can I ask you name?" Eliwood had never seen her before in the castle, though he knew that she couldn't have gotten into the gardens without permission from Eleanora or another high-ranked noble in the castle.

"I . . . no longer have a name," she answered in the same weak voice, gathering her skirts in a low curtsey, "My name was once Skye, though, and you can address me as that, my lord. I have seen proof of your bravery and power, though, and I am requesting your assistance in a great task."

"What do you mean by 'you no longer have a name?" he asked, examining the woman's face behind the veil. He couldn't make out much except for her eyes – slanted, with the ends curled up in an odd way. The irises were a very dark shade, possibly dark brown or black.

Skye smiled slightly and continued speaking. "I am but a shell of my former life, a spirit given a temporary form of life. My people . . . my own daughters even, are trapped in the limbo our world has become. You know what a limbo is? The place between heaven and hell?"

Eliwood nodded, though he wished he had his rapier with him, or even a lance. Something about the woman unsettled him greatly. "I know what limbo is. So, you're . . . a ghost?"

"In a sense . . . yes I am." She clasped her hands together, as if praying, her knuckles painfully visible against her paper-thin skin. "Please, milord, please I beg of you and your army to help the cursed."

He shook his head, taking a step back from her. "How are we to help the dead? We're not saints or . . . or gods, we're just humans. And besides, my 'army' was disbanded a year ago. I wouldn't want to call them to arms again."

"I can understand your hesitation," croaked the woman, "As for your first question . . . They are not truly dead. They are souls, trapped there by a curse. Some wander without purpose, others have to replay their moment of death. Can you picture that?"

He didn't want to. "Alright, I can understand your situation, but I really can't see what my army or I can do for you."

"Break the curse. Then they can finally go onto death, or return to the lives that were cut short. I beg of you, I would give you anything in my power to do so. Anything, money, power, love . . . Nothing is too great."

There was a long pause in which he thought about her offer. His voice was soft when he answered her. "Can . . . Can I see Ninian again? She was a woman I knew . . . a year ago."

"Yes," wheezed Skye, nodding her head, "I have little time left in my conversation. I can send you and your army to the land, including . . . The Dragon Children you knew. Ninian and Nils, those are their names."

"I agree to your terms," he answered swiftly, though wished he had thought about the offer a little longer.

"Thank you so much, Lord Pherae."

The flower garden faded into blackness in sharp blobs. Eliwood blinked frantically as his head swam, but in a few seconds he was out cold on the ground.

_End Chapter One_


	2. Casual

_Casual_

_Ballad of the Skylark, Verse Two_

_With fair white hair and pale blue eyes,  
__The Goddess was a beauty amongst mortal man  
__Her soul was kind, her heart was pure  
__And she gave birth to the utopia of the Skylight  
__Her many children lived to serve  
__They'd do anything she'd ask  
__In return, she gave them food, water and a will to live  
__There was peace all around  
__Then, one day, the Great One decided  
__That her presence would bring forth only strife  
__She wove her magic one last time  
__Bringing forth a human body to inhabit  
__This girl was beautiful as well,  
__Dark red hair and bright green eyes,  
__Yet she lacked a heart and soul  
__However, the Goddess gave her puppet a will  
__And that will took control of all  
__Little by little, the Puppet came to hold the strings  
__And moved the Holy Mother on her own  
__Sickness, death, pain and suffering  
__All were born from the void mind of the Puppet Child  
__People screamed, crying for their helpful deity,  
__Yet those cries remained unanswered  
__When the brave ones went to arms  
__The Puppet brought forth the fires of destruction  
__And gave them all immortal torture  
__Some were forced into another's form  
__Some were forced to see their families die  
__Others were made to become the toys  
__For the brittle Puppet Queen  
__At last, the world became our limbo  
__Our nest between two worlds  
__Whilst none no longer died at hands of a horrid monarch  
__None can achieve true peace_

The moon had gone down across the blood soaked fields, but the darkness remained. It always did. The pale haired girl, whose name in life had been Karen, stared up at the onyx veil that was her endless nightfall. Sunlight hadn't reached the ground since the beginning of the limbo, it had been constant darkness ever since. Her clothes and hair were still blood stained, her hands still clutching her tome tightly to her flat chest.

Her lips curved in a false smile as she watched iron-gray clouds swirl across the obsidian sky. A soft zephyr was blowing her ringlets into her eyes, sending streaks of blood across her brow. She didn't care, much more interested in watching the endless sea of black. There were no stars, no moon, which meant no light. It didn't bother her though, she had gotten used to the perpetual darkness. Night had officially ended when the moon set, but how could you really tell when night ended when the sun never rose?

She gave a dark chuckle again and continued her walk across the field. She usually just wandered the field until the time came for Lock and Miranda's battle. It was like a play to her. She had seen the battle every day for around five hundred years now; she knew every move that soldiers would use. It was engraved into her skull, like a teacher would do so a child would understand their numbers. Normally, she would just walk around the fields while memorizing the spells inside her tome. She had already memorized them, however, and had done so centuries ago. She just did it to pass the time.

The slight wind was ruffling her skirt, sending the smooth fabric over her thin legs. She couldn't truly feel it any longer, just a numb realization that something had touched her. She smoothed the parchment pages of her tome, busy in the text. One hand was holding the book open, the other's index finger running down the columns of small print. Her eyes were unfocused as she read, mentally going over the lessons she had leaned ages ago by her kind instructor and her gentle brother.

Her foot hit something very solid, and very warm; warmth such as she had not felt in many, many years. It was the warmth of a living piece of flesh. She shut her book with a snap and her indigo-black gaze fell to the ground. Had she still owned human emotions, she would have been confused, or even greatly shocked by her discovery.

A boy lay on the bloody grass, his eyes closed as though he was asleep. He had color to his skin, which was tanned from the sun, and his hair was like the blood surrounding them. He wore a dark blue tunic and white pants, both trimmed in gold, a long blue and red cape fashioned over his shoulders and blue boots came a little past his ankles. A rapier's elaborate scabbard was at his side, a golden bandanna wrapped around his brow. He looked as though he came from a wealthy, prominent family but what puzzled her was that he looked . . . alive.

Nobody had been actually 'living' in these lands for thousands of years. They all were the souls of those who had died when the Goddess went mad and sent armies to slaughter all of her creations. To see somebody with pigmentation and such warmth to his face wasn't . . . wasn't right. She stared at him and her dark smile came back.

"Well, it appears we have an unusual and unexpected guest," she said coolly, hugging her tome to her chest and looking down at the young man's face, "This won't last long. He'll become another of the lost ones within days. If he's really alive, then he'll die of starvation. No food, no water . . . Life is such a delicate thing, isn't it?"

She stood and brought her foot up, then slammed it onto his stomach. His eyes shot open in an instant and he let out a gasp of pain, a hand moving towards his rapier's hilt in an instant, getting to his feet hastily. First, he seemed somewhat surprised that he was holding the rapier, then his blue gaze turned to her. He stared at her in amazement, and in horror while she simply looked at him with an unfocused, emotionless gaze. Her voice cut through the silence unceremoniously.

"Welcome to limbo," she said, her voice still as empty as ever, "I am Karen."

The boy – or man actually, he was too old to be considered a child any longer – had been looking around the blood drenched field but jolted back to her at her words. She saw his eyes were a bright, cheery sapphire blue, like the sky had been before eternal darkness had set in.

"Karen?" he said icily, trying to sound polite at he inclined his head in a slight bow, "Nice to . . . nice to meet you."

Her smile faltered at the sound of emotion in his voice. It unnerved her, in a way she couldn't explain accurately. "It's a pity I don't feel the same, O Living One." There was sarcasm in her words, but it couldn't be detected, "I must say, you should be an interesting piece of entertainment for a while."

His eyes flickered to the blood soaked ground, clearly disturbed, before he looked back at her. He was a good two feet taller than she was; though it made little difference. She spoke as though she was much older, so it was truly like he was speaking to an equal. "What is this place?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

She had begun to walk away but called back to him in her deadest tone. "These are the fields of blood. If you excuse me, I have business to attend to. I don't have the leisure time to be speaking to the living."

"By that," he said slowly, walking swiftly after her, "You're telling me that you're dead?"

She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I do suppose I am. I drove a dagger into my chest two millennia ago and I still wander these fields, these bitter lands of perpetual torment. Would you rather relive your death, or would you rather be burned for eternity? I would take the latter of the two; at least I would achieve some peace. It gets very dull, you see. In fact, you are the first attraction I have seen in a long time. Go on, tell me your name."

"Eliwood," he said simply, "Eliwood of Pherae. And you are Karen, correct?"

She nodded and stared at the sky, stopping suddenly. "Its funny, isn't it?" she whispered, "I am dead, yet I speak to you – one who is alive – like we were both on even terms." She gave her dark laugh, which she was sure made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"If you wouldn't mind," he said, trying to sound polite, "Can you tell me what it's like? Being dead and all?"

She frowned darkly. "I really shouldn't. You'll know the feeling yourself in a few days time." She spoke as though they were discussing the weather, light and casual, or as best her dead voice could be casual. "And I am not the best one to tell you the feeling. There are those who can still put it into perspective of a living soul. As for me . . ." She stopped walking and put her tome down on the bloody ground. "Give me your rapier."

"What?" he asked, brow furrowed at the odd question. She held out a hand. "Give me your rapier," she repeated, "I want to show you something, living one." She could see it unnerved him when she called him those names.

He put a hand on the hilt, it was clear the thought went against his better judgment. With a heavy sigh, he unsheathed the sword and presented it to her, hilt first. His fingers had left bloody prints on the steel of the sword, remnants from when he had touched the grass. She clutched the hilt with both of her thin hands and raised it over her heart, preparing to sink it into her soft and delicate flesh.

"What are you doing!" he yelled, shocked, but she ignored him and plunged the sword into her heart. It pieced through her back and blood spilled down her shirt, discoloring the already stained material to make it an even darker color. She let her hands fall to her side, her expression hadn't changed at all. She stared at him, looking casual, though his sword still was lodged inside her chest.

He looked like he was going to be ill, his face a blotchy pale as the color steadily drained from it. Her lips curled into a cruel smile as she took the blade out, presenting it back to him. "I didn't feel a thing," she said with the air of explaining something simple to an over emotional individual, "Because I drove a dagger through my heart, I feel no emotion and no pain. You could decapitate me and my head would simply reattach itself to my neck."

He took the sword with a shaking hand and slid it back in its scabbard. He did not speak; it looked as though he might vomit if he tried to say anything. She picked up her tome and pointed at her chest. Visible beneath the hole the sword had made in her shirt, the split skin beneath was mending itself.

"I'm already dead, so I can't ever be killed. Understand?" She walked off and he followed. It was like he was some sort of dog that followed its master everywhere. She would have felt annoyed. His voice was weak when he spoke, hoarse as he fought to keep his stomach down.

"You can't feel anything? Not even love?"

". . . I knew what love felt like," she said in a whisper-soft voice, "I have the memories of when I could feel things, but memories fade. To truly answer your question, yes. I am a shell. I feel nothing at all."

"That's really sad," he said softly, "You don't have to answer this question but do you . . . see your family? They aren't alive either, are they?"

"No. They are in heaven. I am here because taking ones life is a sin, but my heart was too pure to go to hell. My parents died of illness. My sister is in hell for sins untold and horrid." It was still like a casual conversation. It greatly disturbed him and she took a sick pleasure from it, or as pleasurable as she could feel.

"Now let me ask my own question. Why do you follow me?" she asked, stopping and staring at the lightness sky.

"I . . . really don't know," he said softly, "I feel kind of bad for you, but I'm confused to. I was told I was to come here to release the people here." She gave a dark laugh.

"There are no people here. There are only souls. Souls of the departed who belong nowhere. When the moon and stars come, I will show you something that will most likely sicken you, but brings me laughter."

Her eyes returned to the crimson ground and she could guess his question before it was even asked. "This blood represents all the people who once lived here. We all died. Nobody here is alive, except for you. Now tell me, why are you the chosen one? Why is it you who remains alive in the endless expanse of death which is my home?"

He looked stumped at the question and did not answer. She needed no answer and they walked in silence for a long time. "Do you have a moon? Or stars?"

"They set an hour before your arrival, I presume."

"Then you have no sun?"

"Sunshine is happiness, it is light. We, as death, do not deserve light. We deserve darkness. Do you understand? Because the final person alive died a thousand years ago, the sun set and never rose again. We have night and nightfall. Nightfall has no light at all."

He still looked unnerved but asked no more questions for a long time. She opened her tome again and read over the symbols. She barely took notice that he was with her still.

Pherae's young marquess stared down at the girl beside him. Pale haired and skinned, she looked like a half-decomposed skeleton. Her bones were visible through her skin, her clothing sticking to her body from her blood loss. She was buried in her tome, ignoring his presence completely.

He shivered slightly. This girl gave off an aura of ice, she seemed to have no natural heat of her own. Didn't it bother her at all? Then again, she said it hadn't hurt her when she had drove the rapier through her chest. He felt ill at the very memory of that scene and knew it would haunt him years later. He idly figured Thor's Ire again, staring around the vermilion fields and hills.

He had never truly been to Sacae, but Lady Lyndis had told him enough tales of the plains to give him a crystal clear picture of the rolling grasslands. This place may have fit into that description, had it not been devoid of all life and covered in a sheet of blood so thick you could no longer see the green of the grass below it. The sky was an endless sea of black above him, no stars or moon breaking that perpetual view. Somehow he couldn't believe Karen when she told him this was limbo. To him, this was hell.

She shut her book with a snap and he looked at her. She was looking back at him with her pitiless black eyes and spoke in her voice, which was as soft and dangerous as a snake's rattle and as cold as stone. "Why did you come here?" It was a simple question, though he could not come up with an answer as simple.

"I was told if I came here and helped the people," he began, "I would see the woman I love."

"Love plays cruel jokes to the mind," she said darkly, "Love was indeed the reason you see me as a living golem of flesh and bone. I could have died a simple death, by illness or murder, and I would have gone to heaven. I would be with my parents at this moment. But I could not wait for my body to die of natural terms. I decided to help it reach its end faster. I drove a dagger through my heart, hopping I would go to heaven and be with my mother and father, whom I loved so dearly. Fate played a cruel trick and cast me asunder, leaving me in this limbo. Love will probably also spell your end to. Because of your love for said woman, you will die here and wander these lands as I do now."

"And if I don't die?" he asked calmly. She chuckled darkly.

"You most certainly will. You are still a living human. You require food and water to remain alive. Nothing is born and lives here, you will only find dead animals and plants that provide no nutrients. Water dried up centuries ago, when the last person was officially proclaimed dead. You will not make it alive for even a week, Eliwood, and you will certainly never see your love."

_End Chapter Two_


	3. Friend

_Friend_

_Ballad of the Skylark, Verse Three_

_From darkness she came, the great Puppet Queen  
__Born from the shadow of the pure Mother's heart  
__Her mind was twisted from the start  
__Whilst the great one took her name from the heavens above  
__The shadow took her name from the scum of the land  
__Pitiless hatred dwelt in emerald  
__A mane of blood and a gown of black  
__Accepted by those as a fellow goddess  
__Peaceful and kind she was  
__She was, at the beginning  
__The mortal eye is a fickle thing  
__And deceives the mind as illusions do  
__The greatest illusions belong to this Puppet Queen  
__Who controlled all with strings of flesh and whips of blood  
__First came sickness  
__As ill men fell and died in their beds  
__None knew how to deal with this  
__Since nothing had ever come before  
__Millions fell  
__Thousands dropped  
__And the Puppet ignored the pleas and cries  
__Next came monsters  
__Humans with disfigured forms  
__They hunted flesh, they drank fresh blood  
__Again, nothing could be done  
__Our Goddess turned blind eye away  
__Finally, finally came war  
__With avarice and prejudice and fellow sins  
__Planted in the minds of innocent men  
__Conquest came like a plague of flies  
__It ate away the joys of living in this world  
__It slaughtered children who screamed for salvation  
__Man's steel blades cut down women like nothing more then butter  
__And men, no man was safe any longer  
__Those who could not fight had been discarded  
__Those who could fight had been killed  
__And from her seat in the clouds above  
__Those emerald eyes  
__The emerald gaze of She who controls  
__With the earth as her blood and body  
__She sat and did nothing to prevent our sorrows  
__She just licked her lips and cooed her temptress words  
__And proved that we were nothing more then minor pawns_

The living flesh posed a hindrance to Karen's travels. Many times did she stop and wait for her companion to catch up. The dark power surrounding the fields was affecting him much quicker then she had anticipated, much to her sick amusement. Eliwood's tan skin was going the color of sour milk, his eyes tired and unfocused. It truly looked as though he were very ill and needed to be bedridden. It had been at least two days since his arrival here, and he had neither eaten nor drank those two days. It seemed her prediction would come closer to reality with each passing moment.

She hadn't been out of the fields of blood in a very long time; she had enjoyed Lock and Miranda's daily battle so much that she had kept herself within the dead grasslands for several centuries. Now, at the edge of the vast landscape, she was looking at the ruins that had once been an imperial capital. It had once been suspended in the sky, held there by magic, as had the majority of cities, but the structure had fallen to the ground, killing all its inhabitants. The stone buildings had all collapsed upon the cobblestone ground and numerous frozen statue-like people were cluttered around the dried up fountain, the chipped ivory statue in the center of the fountain was a one winged, armless angel that had been decapitated. The stone in the angel's shape was chipped and dulled with age; though you couldn't call the form standing amongst the gothic city an angel.

Eliwood was interested in the Statues for a while until Karen had explained to him that they were still could see everything, they had just lost the ability to move. Needless to say, he had been unnerved again by it all. He stared at the dried fountain longingly, clearly very thirsty, but turned his attention to the marble ruins which had once been the king's castle. A massive fortress of a building, the north and west towers had crumbled as well as the four walls. Dead ivy wrapped around the columns surrounding the mahogany doors, which were hanging off of rusty hinges and covered in a thick layer of death and icy, but dry, mold.

The moon had risen, casting its bloody light across the stone ground. Karen was seated on the edge of the fountain, buried in her tome whilst Eliwood searched through one of the buildings. She had no idea what he was looking for and had no desire to ask. It wasn't her business and she had no care to make it hers. Only when he called her name did she glance up, standing lazily.

"Karen, you said that I was the only living person here."

Leaning her book open on the stone of the fountain, she walked slowly towards him and saw what he was looking at. It was indeed, another living one, male again and slumped at a table in a half-crumpled tavern. His body was wrapped in a thick brown cloak, the hood pulled up over her face. You could tell he was alive by his hands, which were a deep, chocolate color and the warming aura that surrounded him, which was unlike everybody else's in the city. Eliwood pulled back the hood to reveal an oval-shaped face surrounded by mattered brown hair, tied back by a thin strap of leather. He was breathing shallowly, numerously bleeding cuts on his face and hands. The young Marquees inhaled deeply.

"Saint Elimine thank you," he breathed, "It's Mark."

"I presume that you know him then," she said, examining his facial features. They weren't anything like the angular face structure of Eliwood's; Mark had a more oval, rounder shape to his face, though the features were weather-worn and somewhat faded. A black and emerald scarf was tied loosely around his neck.

"He's saved my life more times than I can count," said the Knight Lord, shaking the young man's shoulders gently. Mark's head lolled to his shoulder, the lips moving open slightly. He was either in a deep sleep or in a coma. With a heavy sigh, Eliwood tried to lift up his friend but he proved to be heavier then expected.

"Let him rest," said Karen, "If I am not mistaken, the living need a lot of sleep, don't they?"

He gave her a look with a raised eyebrow, which she took for a yes. She stared at the tanned boy a little while longer. He certainly looked like he had done a lot of traveling in his lifetime, which made him look older then he probably was. "How do you know this man?"

"He was the tactician for my army a year ago, the best there ever was."

"From your tone of voice, I'm presuming this young man was the only strategist you ever dealt with?" Eliwood gave her a sharp glare, which she returned with her usual dark and eerie smile.

"The city you stand upon was once the capital of the barbaric empire, lead by Lord Kazul. He is in hell because he slaughtered all of the grassland's people. Prejudice drove him mad. The people he killed are either in heaven or wander the fields, though we have met none. They clutch their weapons, ready to fight, but their words are slurred when the speak."

He was apparently trying to ignore her, busy trying to shake awake his tactician. Mark's head fell to his chest, as lifeless as a doll. Eliwood sighed deeply and turned his gaze to the castle. "Does anybody live there?"

"The soul of Kazul's daughter, Moria. She is cursed to dance forever, for she danced with her lover and he killed her in that waltz, so the story says. Dagger went through her neck." He looked sickened.

"Do you really gain some pleasure in telling these tales?" he asked in a snappish tone. She appeared to have touched a nerve.

"I can gain no pleasure from your disturbance, living one, I tell my tales because I feel the need to. That is all." She walked lazily towards the fountain, where she sat and read longer. Eliwood sighed and shook Mark's body some more, all the while yelling his name. Though she could not feel annoyance, Karen was getting tired of listening to him constantly repeat the tactician's name.

Finally shutting her book, she looked up at the lord. "Punch him in the stomach, that's how you woke up."

With another look at the girl, Eliwood balled his right hand into a fist and swung it into the other man's gut. With a grunt of pain, Mark's eyes – as brown as his hair and skin – snapped open and he fell backwards, holding his stomach. He blinked several times, finally registering Eliwood's face in his memory.

"Lord Eliwood! Glad to see you again," he said cheerfully, then looked around at the city, getting to his feet. "Where . . . are we?" he asked slowly, his smiling face quickly being replaced with a frown.

"A paradise for the damned," said Karen lazily, turning a page of her tome without looking up, "A haven for failures, some say. The capital city of an empire run by a man with a heart as black as the sky above, to be more exact, deemed Kaden-Karo by the living centuries ago."

Mark jumped, turning to look at Karen. She glanced up with her gaze unfocused again, then returned to her book. "My name is Karen and you are in limbo."

"Limbo? Saint Elimine help me, I'm DEAD!" yelled Mark, staggering backwards and staring at his lord in horror, "Your dead to?"

Karen gave him her trademarked dark glare and returned to her book. "Life is a delicate thing. I am no longer alive, but you and Eliwood are. In a few days, that life of yours will be gone. You cannot find food or water here. Your bodies will be wasted away; your souls will become trapped here like everyone else." She gestured towards the Statues. "They are in suspended animation, per say. They see all, but cannot move. Please don't bother them."

Mark narrowed his eyes at her, which she ignored. About to reply to her scathingly, a look from Eliwood silenced him. He turned to the red haired lord, confusion on his face. "Who exactly is this girl?" he hissed quietly.

"She's my guide," he explained in a whisper, so Karen could not hear, "Apparently she committed suicide over a thousand years ago."

"Wonderful," said the young strategist with heavy sarcasm, "So she's like a ghost or something?" Eliwood nodded. Karen swung her legs over the edge of the fountain so that her feet were in the water and began to scrub them free of the blood caked onto the toes and soles.

"I suppose you need sleep?" she asked and, though her voice was still a monotone, Eliwood thought a flicker of sympathy was in her words. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of such thoughts. She said it herself; she was like Nergal's morphs, emotionless, empty and soulless. Why would she have sympathy towards him when she had spent the last two days sniping at him about how he'd die soon?

Mark's dark brown eyes flickered to his one-time employer. The red-haired Knight Lord was pale from lack of sleep and lack of food; he looked like he was going to collapse at any moment. "Sleep is a good idea, but where the hell are we suppose to find it in this pile of rubble?"

Karen pointed a finger at the castle, shutting her book with a snap. "Lord Kazul's mansion might be a good place, living ones. Unless you count the cursed Moria, it has been deserted since the city fell. Besides, as live men, I do think you may enjoy Moria's eternal dance. She was called the Goddess of Beauty in her lifetime."

Eliwood scowled, the memory of his conversation with Lady Eleanora returning with a painful stab to his heart. He rubbed Thor's Ire with his thumb absently and Mark's gaze turned to the ring. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Karen had begun to walk towards the castle, her gait slow and silent, buried again in her book. The two followed her, as silent as the grave. Both were examining the shambles of the city.

It had once been beautiful; he could tell that at a glance. All of the buildings were made of carved marble, which surprised him. They were at the edge of a vast field where no quarry could have been. Buildings had been crafted with the greatest care, with domed ceilings and intricate designs carved into the windows and door frames. There were many statues of the same woman perched in a small alcove above each door, a woman with the face of an angel and draped in a long gown that barely covered her chest and legs. Her hair brushed the ground. Eliwood assumed that this must have been either a queen or a saint.

The many frozen Statues that they saw on their way to the palace gates disturbed him greatly. They were all in positions with their faces revealing terror or sorrow. There was a young couple locked in a kiss, the woman pulled to the man's chest and a little girl holding her mother's hand, pointing with tears dripping down her face at the fallen body of a man, who had to be the girl's father. The mother was sobbing too. There was a dog that was animated, nuzzling a boy's fallen body. It growled as they passed it, but only half-heartily, before whimpering and licking the boy's pale face, as though trying to get his playmate to wake up.

Karen, as ever, was emotionless as she walked along the dingy streets, focused completely in her book. Mark looked on the verge of tears, which was saying something. The tactician had seen many events in his life, many battles and fallen soldiers, and here he was about to cry at a dead boy's body. Eliwood himself was trying to ignore everything, which was nearly impossible. He was twirling the magical ring around his finger again and again, rubbing the ruins engraved into the band of silver.

The castle looked even more decrepit up close. Where it may have rivaled the glory of Bern Manse thousands of years ago, it had brown ivy crawling up the sides and a layer of mold so thick upon the doors that it took both men slamming their bodies into it to pry the wood apart. The doors flung open, one falling off its ruined hinges in an instant. The courtyard was filled with dead grass and a female Statue with gray hair, smiling wistfully at a boy and girl, who were playing near the wall. They to were frozen.

The inside of the castle was empty, though the smell of death and decay was present in every knock and cranny. Moth-eaten paintings covered the corridor walls, burnt out torches hanging in brackets near windows whose glass was covered in dust too thick to ever see out of. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the deserted halls and Karen was still buried in her book, turning the pages as though she were simply in a library.

They finally reached a broken doorway that both crumbled the second Eliwood touched it and lead to a massive ballroom, the floor covered in dust and cobwebs marring the glass chandeliers on the ceiling. This room had a single occupant, who was clearly the Moria Karen had spoken of. She was indeed beautiful, with a face elegantly carved with the eyebrows slanted perfectly and skin glossy and flawless like polished stone. Dressed in a gown of ivory and ebony silk, her skin was as pale as newly fallen snow and her hair, pulled into a knot at the back of her skull, was a lifeless and dull shade of red. Her eyes, perhaps once haunting emerald in color, were as dead and empty as Karen's black orbs. She was waltzing without a partner, her face one of happiness as she gripped the air in front of her. She spoke to, cheery and seductively, seeing a dancing companion that none others could see. She took no notice of their presence, still twirling around and around in her waltz, occasionally spinning as though a man guided her body.

When Mark opened his mouth to call her, Karen looked up from her book. "She cannot see us. She is trapped in the memory of her dancing with her murderous fiancée."

"What kept her from going to heaven?" asked Eliwood softly, still watching the woman dance.

"She was unfaithful. Pregnant with another man's child. Her love found out and killed her in this dance. The amusing thing was that she became pregnant because her brother raped her. Isn't that funny?"

He didn't find any humor in the tale, blue gaze watching as Moria spun and reached up to kiss her invisible partner. Her eyes grew wide as a gash appeared on her throat, blood pouring out of the wound and onto the dusty. She seemed to fall to the ground in a graceful arch, eyes still open but now dead. Blood dripped from her open lips, which were petal pink.

Horrified and unnerved greatly, Pherae's marquees turned and fled from the hall, trying desperately to clear the image of Moria's dead body from his mind.

_End Chapter Three_


	4. Lady

_Lady_

_Ballad of the Skylark, Verse Four_  


_From the heavens, it came like a plague _

_Darkness and death and suffrage for all_

_All of the Goddess' sweet, delicate servants_

_Her mortal vassals, her beloved children no more_

_For now, they took arms, raising their steel_

_They would not die helpless_

_They'd die in battle, though only hell awaited those heretics_

_The White Knights, they were called_

_Lead by two saints whose names were forgotten_

_Their titles as generals were never forgotten_

_The vibrant Lady Skylark, mounted atop a white-winged mare_

_With her hair done in curls and her eyes like violet flowers_

_She held up her lance and spoke words of endearment_

_Cheering her troops, though they knew their true fate_

_They knew their place in the ten gates was set as the final_

_And yet, they followed her without question_

_They adored their War Queen Skylark_

_At her side, for all life, was the General himself_

_Named Lord Skyfer the Brave, for he fought without fear_

_From atop his red dragon, he issued commands_

_With his eyes blazed in fire that colored them red_

_He boasted morale when the troops needed most_

_He brought them victory from the jaws of defeat_

_For sure, they would say, for sure they would win_

_The Two Knights of the Sky would save our pure souls_

_We hoped that, at least, victory would come_

_Yet the end drew near_

_And as the sun was drawing to the west_

_The Goddess came forth to the ground one last time_

_Come to kill her heretic enemies_

_With a sword of blood in crystal form_

_And a lance forged from magic kin, she'd end the fight tonight_

_Her enemies alone, were the Generals themselves_

_Ready to die, if needed tonight_

_For hours, for days, _

_They fought one another_

_Rivers of blood rained from the heavens_

_Staining the grass_

_Polluting the waters and earth_

_Yet, as all things must do_

_This to drew to an end_

_An end that none hoped would come_

_The tip of the Goddess' blade was pressed to the Skylark_

_The point of her spear was pressed to the Skyfer_

_They'd die in that instant_

_She'd win back her world_

_But no, she could not be content just with that_

_She had to make them suffer for their sins_

_Sins of blasphemy and sacrilege and betrayal_

_From the blood that was spilt by herself in the fight_

_She drew up the Lord with words of cooed honey_

_She gave him a suit of scales, like a dragon's_

_And claws and fangs and a tongue full of venom_

_For his bravery and power was rewarded with more_

_Those were her words just as she said_

_She'd give him more power_

_And a inhuman form_

_The Skylark cried horror as she watched her beloved_

_No more a General of humans, but the Goddess' demon pet_

_Her tears brought no peace_

_As her creator turned to her_

_For eternity, she was charged_

_With keeping history checked_

_She was forced to check spheres full of memory_

_And write down books filled with words_

_That retold the Goddess' great actions_

_Her victories, her wars, and the battles she's won_

_Forever she must speak of her own loss_

_Her husband's great loss, her people's great end_

_When her task is complete, her fate will end like her partner's demise_

_When she ends her writing forever_

_All that remains is a mouth full of fangs _

The moon had set, leaving the sky as cold and dark as ever before. Whilst Mark had gone to search for Eliwood, Karen had found the castle's massive library with relative ease. A large ceiling room filled with the smells of decaying parchment and mildew, piles of ruined books hid every inch of the dusty carpet. Long tables, made of delicate cherry wood with flowers carved into the legs, were covered in scrolls of magic, tactics and poetry cherished by Lord Kazul's many wives. The large windows were cracked and covered in dust too thick to even budge, the curtains deteriorated so that only thin ribbons of burgundy silk hung on either side of the yellow glass.

Seating her own tome on the edge of a broken table, she ran a thin hand over the many volumes situated upon the shelves. There was a massive, leather bound book containing the recount of the war which had brought the limbo to this world and a small book of poetry written by the first wife of Lord Kazul, Lady Maria. There were books of Anima magic, the many myths concerning the creation of the Goddess – the being who had brought the very hell upon the world she created. Her hands fell upon a small, leather bound book that she pulled out to read.

It turned out not to be a book, but a book-shaped box containing two items. One was a silky feather, pure white like the skin upon her body, and four inches long. It may have belonged to a swan, a very large swan, and felt like velvet to her fingers. The second item was a large scale, from an insanely large lizard it would appear, and onyx in color. Rough and ridged, it felt like a badly cut stone. She knew in an instant what they were, for she had seen them many times in her tome and in her life.

The feather belonged to the once noble steeds of female warriors, the Pegasi. They had died out with the end of the wars, though their souls still lived inside the vast mountainous region of the northern part of the continent. The scale was one of a Wyvern, which were so closely linked to death and destruction their name was spat out with disgust. However, both items were such powerful magical talismans that she kept them in their book and laid it aside with her tome.

A soft noise made her turn around. She looked to the massive staircase that curled around the pillar in the center of the room, which lead to the upper story and Moria's bedchambers. Moving with a slow and lazy gait, she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up to see a woman had been lying on the stone. She was young, granted, but had the face of an angel. Her radiant lemon colored locks surrounded her face, tied loosely in a braid that was flung over her left shoulder, a few strands over her left one. Her skin was lightly tanned, the face was like that of a statue, carved to perfection, and she wore clothing richly tailored, that of a noblewoman but not like the ones common to the country they were in and there was a quiver of arrows and a bow of carved silver at her hip. She was beautiful, in a noble's graceful way and appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the stairs.

Karen looked her up and down at the woman, narrowing her eyes to slits. The blonde woman was alive as well, which probably meant that she had some connection to Eliwood and Mark. Karen kicked the woman – hard – in the side and the woman's eyes, which were a pale purple color unlike Karen's black-purple shade, flickered open. She sat up and looked at Karen curiously.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was like flute music, soft and fluttery with a thickly foreign accent, one that was unlike Eliwood's and Mark's.

"Karen," she said simply, while the woman seemed unnerved by the monotone passing the lips of a girl who looked so young. The ghost continued up the stairs as though nothing strange had happened, her feet making no mark upon the ground or any sound as she walked. The blood the fields had put upon her feet had dried up now, leaving her once pale feet a dark reddish-brown. The hallways above were about as deserted and full of mildew as the library, though there was the faint scent of incense lingering. The woman was behind her, her cape fluttering as she walked.

"Is this your home, little girl?" She was speaking kindly, like a mother would do. Karen ignored the question for a while before stopping her walk.

"This is the home of a murderer and lunatic, who died over a thousand years ago. All that lives here now is the trapped soul of his daughter, who is cursed to forever dance with her invisible partner. I am but a visitor escorting a lost lord and a tactician across the lands of this limbo."

The woman looked somewhat scared for a moment. "Did you say . . . limbo? As in, the limbo between heaven and hell?"

Karen's thin lips curled into her eerie smile and she nodded jerkily. "You have an air of nobility surrounding you. Are you in some connection to a red haired man by the name of Eliwood?"

The woman arched an eyebrow and her hand moved towards her quiver. "Why do you ask?" she responded coolly.

"I thought as much," Karen replied smoothly, "He is in this mansion to. Perhaps he'll enjoy your company more than mine." The woman removed her hand from her the tip of her bow.

"I'm sorry for the lack of a name," she said, giving a kind smile, "I am Louise of Wrigley."

Karen responded with a curt nod and turned her head towards the end of the hall. There was an unearthly feeling from the end of the hall, one where the air was thick enough to taste and an ominous presence lurked in the shadows of the unseen. Though she could not feel fear, she knew that Louise must have been feeling something of the eerie sort. The lady had drawn out her bow, stringing the magnificent weapon so that, even in the dank light of the corridor, Karen could see its surface shine.

"There's nothing here," said Karen emptily, "All that occupies this manor is Moria's soul."

The depths of the castle were just as eerie as main rooms. With his rapier drawn and Mark following behind him like a dog begging for a bone, Eliwood examined the corridors of Kaden-Karo's castle. There was a feeling in the air that made the sparse hairs on the back of his neck prickle, the silence pressing in on them from every cubic inch of the air.

It was like this place was haunted by more than the dancing soul three floors below them, something more sinister. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the dark and deserted stairwells and halls, each room they passed had the door torn asunder, revealing a room ripped apart by some savage animal. Even though he didn't miss Karen, her knowledge of this limbo was something to be desired about at the moment.

Bringing his leg to his chest, he kicked in one door to continue their passage. He winced at the noise, squinting in the pitch darkness of the room. It was funny how he could see anything in this saint-forsaken wasteland Karen called limbo but he called hell; everything was so dark and horrible.

The room they had just entered had the appearance of a royal bedchamber, decorated in once lavish crimson and gold coloring that had been dulled by age. The four poster bed was the main focus of the room, the moth eaten curtains framing a bed covered in a velvet quilt. The carved cherry wood furniture was spaced elaborately, the wood covered in brown mold. Women's dresses had been flung carelessly into the trunk at the end of the, jewelry and the like piled atop it. There were two dagger sheaths inside as well.

"Someone was in a hurry to leave," noted Mark, examining the open but ruined windows. Several of the panes seemed to be missing, smashed out by a large, blunt object. Eliwood turned his attention to a corner of the room, where a small girl sat curled in a fetal position. She had dull bluish hair and lifeless gray eyes, dressed in a faded and ripped silk nightgown. A gold and ruby circlet, rusted and old, rested upon her brow, gold rings on her fingers. She was holding a doll to her chest and was sobbing quietly. She looked up at them through tear streaked eyes.

"You're here to kill me again, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice cracking with sadness, "You're going to kill me like you killed mummy." Eliwood slid his rapier away, though the girl still flinched.

"We're not here to hurt you," he said soothingly but the girl flung her eyelids shut tightly, crying louder.

"Yes you are! You're going to kill me!" she hiccupped, hugging the porcelain doll tighter to her chest, "Go away you filthy bastards! Just leave me be!" He was amazed that a girl this young (she looked barely older than four or five) had that phrase in her vocabulary. Mark gave him a scandalized look, pulling his thick cloak tighter to his body.

"I'm not good with kids," he muttered so the girl couldn't hear him.

"Are you alone here?" asked Eliwood, hoping he sounded kind. She nodded her head furiously, clutching the doll in a white knuckled grip.

"Mummy was packing for me to leave, but they came and-" She screamed in sadness, burying her face inside the doll. "They-They laughed and they threw her body out the window! I saw it smash outside! Then they turned to me and . . .and . . ." She wailed louder, sounding more and more like a banshee as she screamed. Her words were inaudible; she was so hysterical.

"There was so much pain, and . . . and . . . they were all laughing. Then daddy came and I thought he'd help me, but they just continued! He even did it! They all did it, then they drove their shinny axe through my head. It hurt so badly, I just wanted it to end . . ." She looked up at the two men through horrified eyes, clutching her doll so bitterly and tightly. "Please, don't tell me you'll be like them. Please don't tell me you'll hurt me like they did! PLEASE!"

Finally realizing what had happened to the girl, Eliwood shook his head furiously and disgustedly. Those men, her own father even, had raped her. She was barely six! She crawled towards him and flung her arms around his legs, knocking him off balance. His back collided painfully with the open trunk and the girl nuzzled his legs like a cat would do.

"Please, please help me. They're still here. They still want more. They liked it so much . . ." She tightened her grip around his legs, staring at his face with her tear-streaked pale face. She could have been mistaken for a living person, had her skin been not like ice to the touch and her face hollow, not like the round one a child should have. "Please, protect me, sirs!"

"We will," said Eliwood calmly and the girl hugged him ever tighter.

"Please, banish them. They'll kill me again, and then daddy will come, and he'll do it too. Please . . ." She dug her nails into his skin and he winced slightly.

"What's your name?" asked Mark, he to was forcing his voice to stay calm and honey coated.

"Bianca." She let go of Eliwood's legs and showed them her doll. It had a strangely Sacaen look to it, with short green hair and a crimson cloth fashioned to look like the clothing they wore. "This is Skydancer. She tells stories. They're all peaceful ones to. She was once bigger but big Skydancer went away and the small one is here!" She looked cheerful, and Eliwood was forced to make a smile.

She didn't need to finish her statements. It was clear as her story played out. Her father had killed her friend, and she had fashioned the doll to look like her friend. Apparently this girl had schizophrenia as well, if she thought that doll could speak to her. He didn't have the heart to break reality to Bianca, finally seeing her face smile for the first time. She stood, smiling still in an obscure sort of way.

"You're really nice, mister. Are you alive?" He nodded slowly. She giggled lightly. "I thought so. You're warm. You're lucky to. I wish I was alive again."

As the Pherean marquees got to his feet, Bianca held his hand. She was smiling still wider. "I remember living people have to eat and drink. There's water in the cellars. For food, there's nothing I can do." She was still smiling, leaning her head on his arm.

Mark smiled at her, his grin wide as he looked at the Knight Lord. For now, all Eliwood could think of was water. He was parched, more then he thought he'd ever been, and Bianca forcibly led him from the room and down some of the corridors they had already passed. She was chatting animatedly and it was a while before he realized she was not speaking to him or Mark but the doll still clutched in her hands. She grinned.

"Skydancer says you're cute. She likes handsome men. She didn't like daddy, because he was so fat." She giggled, swinging his arm back and forth. He sighed heavily but gave her peace. She was still alive at heart, unlike the emotionless and broken Karen, and his pity moved towards her more.

Speaking of Karen, her monotone voice pierced through the air with such suddenness that both men jumped and Bianca screamed. "It appears I was mistaken in my assumption. I did not know Kazul had another child, especially one of the plainsmen." She had appeared so suddenly behind them that it was like she had teleported, her hands missing her tome. However, with her was the Etrurian Sniper that had been one of the most powerful soldiers in his mercenary army. Lady Louise smiled kindly at him and bowed.

"It appears we meet again, Lord Pherae." Her voice was exactly the same as he remembered it as; sweet and delicate like music. She was holding her strung bow, which did not surprise him. This place was too eerie and unnerving to walk around unarmed.

"I hope you're well too, countess." Bianca smiled shyly at Louise. "You're pretty," she whispered.

Karen looked at Bianca with her unfocused, apathetic gaze. "Your mother wasn't Maria Perchikk was she?"

Bianca shook her head. "Daddy had many wives. Miss Maria was pretty too. She liked mummy. Mummy was a pretty lady to! With . . . with green hair and brown skin! She said she came from the fields, like Skydancer!" She held out her doll to Louise, smiling wider still.

"I suspected as much. Enough small talk." Karen looked back at Eliwood. "I have news for you."

He nodded. "What?" asked Mark tiredly, "I hope it's good."

Karen's lips twitched in a thin-lipped smile, which Eliwood knew meant bad news was coming. "The doors have locked themselves. We can't leave the castle."

_End Chapter Four_


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